Chapter 3: The Luo Clan's Desperation
Two days of walking through wilderness that wanted me dead.
The eastern forests were nothing like the manicured parks back home. Trees grew wrong here—twisted trunks thick as houses, roots that moved when I wasn't looking, leaves that whispered in languages I almost understood. Spirit beasts hunted in the undergrowth. I'd heard them at night, growls that resonated in my chest.
I'd avoided them. Barely. Soul Perception—the Purple-tier skill I'd copied from some wandering cultivator during loop nine—let me sense living things before they got close. A sphere of awareness around me, showing qi signatures like heat blooms in my mind.
It was the only reason I was still alive.
The Luo Clan camp appeared at dusk on the third day. I crouched in the tree line, using Soul Perception to scan the clearing ahead.
Thirty-two people. Most signatures weak, flickering like dying candles. Three slightly stronger—Foundation Establishment realm, maybe. And one that made my skin crawl. Powerful but suppressed, like a star wrapped in black cloth. That one lurked at the camp's edge, concealed.
Zhuo Fan. Has to be.
I focused on the camp itself. Wounded everywhere. Makeshift tents cobbled from torn cloth. Fires too small, like they were afraid of drawing attention. People moved with the exhausted shuffle of refugees who'd been running too long.
A woman stood near the central fire, gesturing sharply at an older man. Even from distance, even in tattered robes, she commanded attention. Black hair pulled back severe. Posture rigid despite obvious exhaustion. Voice cutting through the camp's murmur.
Luo Yunshang. The female lead. The clan mistress.
My fragmented memories crystallized—cold beauty, fierce intelligence, shoulders carrying a clan's destruction. She looked exactly like the manhua panels I half-remembered. Younger than I'd expected. Maybe twenty-two. But her eyes were decades older.
An old man approached her—gray beard, noble robes gone threadbare. He spoke quietly. She snapped something back. He flinched.
Not a woman who tolerates weakness.
I pulled back deeper into the trees. The concealed presence—Zhuo Fan—hadn't moved, but I felt it tracking across the camp. Watching. Calculating.
If he senses me, this gets complicated.
I retreated a quarter-mile, found a hollow tree, and sat. The spatial ring on my finger felt heavier than it should. Three spirit stones. Basic dagger. Some rations.
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
These people were desperate, yes. But they were still nobility. Approaching them as a penniless nobody would get me laughed out of camp at best, killed as a spy at worst.
I needed resources. Real resources. The kind that made desperate nobles reconsider their standards.
Time to go shopping.
Soul Perception swept the forest. There—three li north. A qi signature, Foundation Establishment realm. Alone. Probably a wandering cultivator, moving between towns.
Perfect.
I tracked him for an hour. Male, middle-aged, sword on his back. He moved with the confidence of someone used to being the strongest thing in the area. Foundation Establishment meant he could shatter boulders, cut through steel, kill me a hundred times over.
Which was exactly what I needed.
I stepped onto the path ahead of him. Empty hands visible. Non-threatening.
He stopped. Hand moved to his sword hilt.
"Water," I said. Hoarse voice, stumbling posture. Playing the desperate traveler. "Please. I haven't—"
"Piss off."
He walked past me.
I grabbed his sleeve.
His sword took my head off.
[RETURNER'S MIRROR ACTIVATED]
[Death Registered: Wandering Cultivator - Jiang Wei, Foundation Establishment Mid]
[Copied: Wind Blade Slash - Blue Rank]
[Timeline Reset: -24 Hours]
Death eight. The hollow tree again. Dawn instead of dusk.
Wind Blade Slash filled my mind—a ranged attack, compressed air sharp as steel, launched from sword or palm. Blue-tier. Decent quality.
Still couldn't use it. No qi. But the knowledge was there, waiting.
I tracked the same cultivator. This time, I didn't grab his sleeve. I walked away, circled through the forest, and ambushed him from behind.
His sword still took my head off. But this time, the system gave me a choice.
[Previous killer detected. Item acquisition available.]
Options bloomed in my mind—I could sense what he carried. The sword (too high-quality for me to steal yet). A pouch of spirit stones. A jade slip containing techniques.
I chose the spirit stones.
Death nine. The hollow tree.
The pouch materialized in my spatial ring. Fifteen mid-grade spirit stones. Significant wealth.
I smiled and went hunting for the next target.
Three more deaths. Three more cultivators.
A woman with a bow gave me Qi Sensing (Blue-tier passive skill that let me feel cultivation levels). Then gave me a bottle of Foundation Establishment pills when I died to her again.
An old hermit killed me with a palm strike, copied me Soul Perception (Purple-tier—the jackpot). His second death yielded a cultivation manual. I pulled it from my spatial ring later, hands shaking. Demonic cultivation method. Incomplete, probably forbidden. Exactly the kind of thing that would catch a desperate clan's attention.
The third cultivator was younger, cocky. He had a decent sword and delusions of superiority. I baited him into a fight, died once for his skill (some Earth-type defensive technique I immediately forgot), died again for his sword and spare robes.
Noble robes. Expensive silk, minor clan insignia I didn't recognize. Bloodstained from where I'd died in them, but washable.
Perfect.
Death count: thirteen. Dawn of day four.
I laid out my inventory in the hollow tree. Fifty-three spirit stones total—mixture of grades, but mostly mid-tier. Eight Foundation Establishment pills. One Demonic cultivation manual. One quality sword. Noble robes.
And five skills I couldn't properly use.
But that didn't matter. What mattered was the impression. Mysterious young master with unclear background but obvious resources. Exactly the kind of wildcard desperate nobles might gamble on.
I washed the blood from the robes in a stream. Changed. The silk felt wrong against my skin—too fine, too expensive. But I forced my posture straighter. Noble bearing. Like I belonged in these clothes.
The spatial ring went on my right hand, visible. Status symbol.
The sword hung at my belt. I'd never used a sword in my life, either life, but it completed the image.
I walked toward the Luo Clan camp as the sun crested the trees.
The sentries saw me coming. Two men, both injured, both barely Qi Condensation realm. They raised spears with shaking hands.
"State your business," one said.
I let Soul Perception wash over them. They flinched—cultivators could feel when someone scanned their cultivation. It was rude. Aggressive. Exactly the kind of thing an arrogant young master would do.
"I'm here to see your mistress," I said. Flat tone. No explanation offered.
"The Clan Mistress doesn't—"
"Tell her Adam Walker wishes to discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement." I pulled a spirit stone from my spatial ring, tossed it casually to the speaker. Mid-grade. Worth more than these men probably saw in a year. "For your trouble."
The sentry caught it. Eyes widened. He looked at his companion.
Hook set.
"Wait here."
They disappeared into camp. I stood in the morning sun, projecting confidence I didn't feel. Thirteen deaths had taught me cold calculation, but negotiation? This was new territory.
The concealed presence—Zhuo Fan—shifted. Still hidden, but I felt his attention lock onto me like a predator sighting prey.
Yeah. I feel you too.
The sentry returned.
"The Clan Mistress will see you."
Luo Yunshang
The stranger walked into her camp like he owned it.
Yunshang watched from the central tent's entrance. Foreign name—Adam Walker. Foreign features too, maybe. Hard to tell with cultivation worlds being so vast. But his bearing screamed nobility. The silk robes, the casual display of the spatial ring, the way he moved like poverty was a distant concept.
Everything her clan no longer had.
"Mistress," Elder Bai whispered beside her. "This could be a trap."
"Everything is a trap lately," she said.
The stranger stopped ten paces away. Bowed. Not deep—the shallow bow of equals, not a subordinate greeting a superior.
Arrogant. Or confident.
Yunshang stepped forward. Her own robes were tattered, stained with road dust and old blood. Her clan's insignia was barely visible. But she kept her spine straight.
"You wished to speak with me?"
"Luo Yunshang," he said. Not a question. "Luo Clan Mistress. Last of your direct bloodline after the massacre three weeks ago."
Her hand moved to the dagger at her belt. Behind her, Elder Feng tensed.
The stranger raised a hand. "Peace. I'm not here as an enemy."
"Then what are you?"
"An opportunity."
He stepped closer. Elders moved to intercept, but Yunshang waved them back. The stranger stopped at a respectful distance and placed a scroll on the ground between them.
"A cultivation manual," he said. "Demonic path. Incomplete, but valuable. Consider it a gesture of good faith."
Elder Wu snatched up the scroll, unfurled it. His eyes widened. "This is... this is a Three Paths Demonic Cultivation method. How did you—"
"I inherited it," the stranger said smoothly. "Along with other resources. But resources alone don't buy legitimacy in the cultivation world. I need a family. You need resources. I'm proposing a trade."
Yunshang studied him. Young, maybe her age. Eyes that didn't match his youthful face—too calculating, too cold. He'd seen things. Survived things.
"What trade?"
He met her gaze directly. "Marriage. I join your clan officially, bringing my resources. You gain access to wealth, techniques, and... other advantages I can provide. In exchange, I get your clan's lineage and legitimacy."
The tent went silent.
Elder Bai found his voice first. "You... you want to marry the Clan Mistress? A stranger walks into our camp and proposes—"
The stranger placed a pouch on the ground. It clinked heavily.
"Fifty spirit stones," he said. "Mid-grade and above. Plus eight Foundation Establishment pills." Another item appeared—a sword, quality steel. "And whatever other resources your clan requires to stop running and start rebuilding."
Yunshang felt her breath catch. Fifty spirit stones. Fifty. Her clan's entire treasury before the massacre had been thirty.
"Why?" she asked. "If you have such wealth, why not join a major sect? Buy your way into any noble house? Why us?"
The stranger smiled. It didn't reach his eyes.
"Because I need a family I can build with. A clan on the rise, not one stagnant with centuries of politics. You're desperate. I'm pragmatic. We can help each other."
"Or you're a Cai Family spy," Elder Feng said.
"If I were, you'd already be dead. I could've poisoned your water, set fire to the camp, picked you off one by one while you slept." The stranger's voice stayed flat. "I'm offering partnership. Accept or refuse. But know that in three days, the Cai Family will send another hunting party. Fifty men, three Foundation Establishment experts. You'll all die."
"How could you possibly—"
"I know things." The stranger's eyes fixed on Yunshang. "Things that can keep you alive. Things that can make your clan powerful again. Marry me. Bind me to your clan properly. And I'll prove my value."
Yunshang felt the weight of every decision that had led here. Her father dead. Her clan broken. Running like animals through wilderness while enemies circled.
This man was dangerous. Every instinct screamed it. But he was offering salvation.
"Elders," she said quietly. "Outside. Now."
They withdrew. The stranger waited, posture relaxed, like he had all the time in the world.
Zhuo Fan
From his concealed position behind the storage tent, Zhuo Fan observed the stranger with growing interest.
This Adam Walker was wrong. Everything about him was wrong.
His cultivation base read as... nothing. Mortal, or close to it. But he moved with confidence that didn't match weakness. His aura flickered—skills present but disconnected from any proper foundation. Like someone had stitched together techniques from different sources with no regard for compatibility.
And those resources. Fifty spirit stones. Foundation pills. A Demonic cultivation manual Zhuo Fan recognized from his previous life—worth a fortune, even incomplete.
Where had a wandering nobody acquired such wealth?
The Clan Mistress and her elders were debating inside the tent. Zhuo Fan could hear them.
"It's too perfect," Elder Bai was saying. "No one offers this much without strings."
"We're dying," Yunshang's voice, cold as winter. "Strings or not, we need this."
Zhuo Fan agreed. The Luo Clan was three days from annihilation. This stranger—trap or not—was their only option.
But that didn't mean Zhuo Fan would trust him.
He'd watch. Calculate. And if Adam Walker proved to be a threat?
Well. Accidents happened.
Adam Walker
They were taking too long. Either they'd accept or they'd—
The tent flap opened. Luo Yunshang emerged, face unreadable.
"Two conditions," she said.
"Name them."
"First. You submit to a Blood Binding Seal. A contract that ensures you can't betray the clan's interests."
I nodded. The seal wouldn't work—my Returner's Mirror ability was EX-rank, it bypassed normal magical bindings. But they didn't know that.
"Second. You tell me your real purpose. Not the resources or legitimacy excuse. The actual reason you're doing this."
I looked at her. Really looked. She was smart. Too smart to fool completely.
So I gave her a piece of truth.
"I need a strong family," I said. "My cultivation method—it's unique. It requires me to be bound to a clan's strongest members. The stronger they are, the stronger I become. I can't cultivate normally. I'm parasitic. I need you to grow so I can grow."
Silence.
Then Yunshang laughed. Short, sharp bark of sound.
"At least you're honest about being a leech." She walked closer, eyes searching my face. "You make us powerful, you become powerful?"
"Yes."
"And if we stay weak?"
"Then I stay worthless."
She extended her hand. "Marriage contract. We perform the ceremony tomorrow. The seal will be cast. And if you're lying—if you betray us—I'll kill you myself."
I took her hand. Cold fingers, calloused from weapon training.
"Deal."
The elders drew up contracts. I signed. The ceremony was scheduled for dawn.
As I left the tent, I felt the concealed presence move. Zhuo Fan, tracking me. Analyzing.
Our eyes met across the camp. Just for a moment. The former Demon Emperor in servant's robes. The transmigrator pretending to be a young master.
His expression promised murder.
I smiled.
Game on, protagonist.
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